Propaganda Piece
by JulietGivesUp
Summary: Alfred was no Captain America. He was not a soldier either. He was powerless; a public figurehead, a mere puppet for his superiors' disposal. Yet people ingrained his face into their hearts as a symbol of hope, of patriotism - of their beloved America. Meanwhile, Arthur was in Europe fighting the real battles and suffering the true horrors of the Second World War.


**Chapter 1**

"For the last time kid, I can't let you in!"

"Aw c'mon ya old geezer! You gotta put me on that list! I'm practically offering myself to the army, I'm a willing volunteer!" a young man argued, maintaining a serious scowl for what he called his 'determined adult' face. He had been practicing it all morning as he strolled along the wide glass windows of the shops lined along the block.

"What you're really committing yourself to is suicide, moron. Those krauts ain't gonna go easy on you just 'cuz you're a kid. Heck, you little twerp won't even last a week in the training camps let alone physical combat judging from those flimsy arms o' yours!" retorted a cocky redhead behind him, following a stream of laughter from the other men who came to sign up.

"Shut up!" The young man gave the fellow behind him the stink-eye, "Captain America started out just like me before turning into an awesome super-soldier and kicking a bunch of villains' asses. You oughta respect me now 'cuz I sure won't remember you fondly when I'm on top of you all!"

There was another round of laughs as the recruiting officer clapped his hand on the teen's shoulder. "The war would be over by now if the Captain was real, Alfred. Now go on home to your momma and stick with your fanciful comic books. A lot of folks out there in Europe would kill to be where you are right now."

The officer purposely ruffled Alfred's head, causing the boy's hat to fall and reveal his neatly combed (and admittedly childlike) blonde hair.

"Quit talking to me like I'm some five year old! I swear I'm eighteen!" Alfred protested, swatting the grey-bearded man's bothersome hand.

"Nice try lad, but that suit and fedora doesn't do well hiding your suspenders," the officer bent down to pick up the boy's fedora from the ground. Dusting it gently, he handed it back to the moping teen and continued, "Fancy clothing doesn't make a man-"

"Yeah! A _gun_ does!" Alfred retorted, snatching his hat grudgingly.

The officer sighed. "You've got a lot to learn about the world, Al. Anyway, getting all ginned up like this… did you steal that suit hoping to pass for an adult?"

"O' course not! It was a gift from my father before he left for the war. Pop says I'm the man of the house 'til he gets back. He's the commander of the army air force, ya know. That means he's in charge of winning the war from the skies, and knowing him, he'd probably beat all the bad guys before the end of this year. So you see, that's why I _have_ to get in the air force now! I can't let him beat them all without me!"

The officer was right close to giving up as he finally decided to open Alfred F. Jones' files. One glance at the documents and his eyes completely hardened into a look of resolute objection. He shook his head and dumped the manila folder holding Alfred's files into a trash bin.

"No can do. Your _real _file says you've just turned fifteen and you've snuck in, what, _five times_ now?"

Alfred's ears turned a bright shade of pink. "Pshhaw! You know how many Alfred Jones there are in New York? _C'mon_, that could be anybody."

The exasperated officer read from the clipboard he was holding. "It also says here that you've failed the eye exam. Look kid, we're not sending kids to war, much less a persistent dolt that can't even read things three feet away from his face. It's a serious offense to falsify your age in the military, boy. I'm going to let you off the hook just this once, but the next time you pull a stunt like this, I'll be forced to take appropriate measures toward your offense. Now run along."

Alfred tried to look unfazed by the menacing looks he was shot by the officers and other recruits waiting impatiently behind him. The redhead grabbed him by the shoulder and started to pull him out of line. However, as persistent as Alfred was, he grasped a tight hold on the officer's navy blue uniform daring to drag the old man along.

"I just want to contribute to my country! It's my freedom as a citizen to do just that and none of you old folks have the right to deprive me of my unalienable rights!"

People scrambled to remove the ridiculous boy from the officer bellowing warnings and empty threats.

"Get this crazy boy off of me!"

"Sir, I think your uniform is starting to rip!"

"Everybody! Come look! I'm being deprived of my rights! Come witness an American being denied his rights because of adult tyranny! Give me liberty, or give me death! Give me liberty, or give me death! Give me liberty, or give me death!"

As Alfred screamed his liberating chant, people from the streets came flocking into the center to witness the spectacle occurring. The boy's protests can be heard outside. That's how loud it was.

In the midst of the chaos, one stern voice stood loud and clear from the crowd that made the rowdy conspirator's blood run cold.

"**Alfred Freedom Jones!** What the heck are you doing over there? You let go of that man's uniform right this instant or god forbid it, I will make you bend over and belt you, right here, right now!"

Alfred immediately released the officer's uniform as if it hand suddenly turned into a snake. Still, grappling with a poisonous snake would have been better than facing his venomous mother.

She stood proud and tall with her blonde curly locks amplifying the pure American beauty her face held – a beauty that intensely shone through despite her fury and embarrassment towards her troublemaker of a son. Mrs. Jones was a charismatic woman in everything she was. She wore only the most fitting clothes of the day, an enthusiastic socialite, as well as a popular community person. Her mixed distress and disappointment over the news that her son was up to his tomfoolery again was plausible. Alfred could just tell by the parasol she was eagerly swapping back and forth in her hand that he was going to get it bad. He silently prayed for the officer to toss him in jail lest being deaf from his mother's sure fire scolding later.

Someone up there must have listened and pitied the poor boy as the heavens brought him something even better.

"Excuse me. Coming through," a crisp accent meandered through the crowd finally getting nearer to the center of the hullaballoo. "Ah, there you are Alfred! I've been looking all over for you chap. Come along now, we've got some fixing to do, don't we Al?"

Arthur emerged from the crowd, his hair untamed as always but nevertheless looking as sharp as anybody in their town could ever hope to be. Alfred was offered a hand and he took it a bit flabbergasted.

"Uh… yeah. Fixing to do… yup! Me and Arthur have some fixing up to do! Gotta run!" Alfred took the opportunity to escape his doom. Unfortunately, his mother grabbed hold of his left ear before he could make it out home safe.

"Now hold on just a second, young man," the Lady of the Beasts hissed. She turned to Arthur, her icy glare replaced by less intense persona. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here for Alfred, dear, but I surely hope you aren't playing games with me. Where are you two headed?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it ma'am. Alfred and I are headed to Mr. Thompson's garage right now. You see, your son has been helping out with the gentleman's errands and such, what with Mrs. Thompson _passing away_ just recently and the poor man still settling in the house by himself, and Alfred here even _offered_ to fix Mr. Thompson's radio as well as paint his faded fence this weekend," Arthur stated calmly.

"Your son is quite a caring person, generously spending what time he has playing baseball with the other boy to caring for Mr. Thompson. I'm sure Mrs. Garrison and William appreciates it."

"Yes...well I'm sure William will appreciate someone taking care of his father while he's out there in the frontier…"

"Oh, and I've also come to inform you that you've received a telegram from Mr. Jones. It should be waiting for you at home, ma'am. Have a good rest of your day!"

He charmingly pulled Mrs. Jones' snappy fingers from Alfred's abused ear and politely gave her gloved hand a small peck. By then, Mrs. Jones was swimming in flattery and news of her husband seemed to have settled her anger.

"Such a polite young man you are Arthur. Very well. You may whisk this rascal away to wherever it is but I expect him back before sundown. Take care now!"

And with that, Alfred was able to breathe a little easier and the two raced to the local ice cream parlor.

* * *

"And what will you boys be having?"

"Chocolate sundae please! Ooh, and don't forget to add extra toppings!"

"I'll have a vanilla sundae, please."

Once they settled down, Alfred and Arthur sat on the barstools and waited to for their confectioneries. The ice cream parlor had to be Alfred's favorite place in the town. Apart from getting to down loads of ice cream, it was the perfect place to gawk at girls from school and spend time with his team mates on the baseball team. It was also the place where Alfred and Arthur first met.

"Gee… thanks for saving my butt back there, pal," Alfred murmured sheepishly. He played with his cowlick for a few moments for distraction but he couldn't ignore the condescending look Arthur radiated towards him.

"So despite the countless times I've told you to let it go, you went ahead and sneaked in anyways?" Arthur raised one of his famous eyebrows. His comment was more of a statement than a question.

"Uh-huh," Alfred replied lamely. He felt like sinking into the chair the more the older boy glared at him with _that _look.

Alfred believed that Arthur just had these deep green eyes that could _stare_ into his soul. Once, he was determined to have a staring contest with the older boy, unbeknownst to Arthur of course, and he lasted thirty seconds before he tried his best to cover his chest with his arms, feeling helplessly naked under Arthur's gaze.

Thankfully Arthur switched into a more playful persona, smirking unbelievably at the kid slouching beside him. "You know. I don't get you."

Alfred looked up from his slouch.

Arthur continued, "I mean, don't get me wrong, my father's out there fighting also, but what's gotten you so fixed in joining the army?"

When Alfred didn't reply, Arthur persisted. "Are you doing it for honor? For people to recognize you as a man? For your father's approval? Do you want to kill and destroy people?"

Alfred finally responded, albeit it was filled with a bit too much passion.

"No! I just… I just wanna protect people; my friends, my neighbors, my mom. I don't want the war to hit my home Arthur. That would be the day when all the things we've worked so hard to raise up here would go up in flames from bombs and tanks. We have to end it there _now_. Plus, there's so many people dying there already. Gosh, I can't even imagine if you were in England right now…" Alfred trailed on, looking at Arthur with a ghost of fear in his eyes.

It was true. Arthur had indeed been lucky. Three years ago, just in the start of the war, he and his mother was ordered to stay put in America until things have settled down in Europe. They were visiting a distant relative across the pond when his father was ordered to return to Britain for service, as he was a reputable commander and led a squadron in the Royal Air Force, and without another comment, he set off into the night instructing Arthur and his mother to stay put where it was much safer... at least for now.

Alfred's father was kind and offered them his home, knowing Mr. Kirkland for quite some time even before Alfred was born. Arthur and his mother were more than just guests by now, to say the least. Nevertheless, Mrs. Jones welcomed them to stay for as long as they wanted. She and Mrs. Kirkland were quite the pair, spending long afternoons just chatting up a storm and creating relief baskets to the needy in the neighborhood. As fate would have it, Mr. Jones left two years later to follow Mr. Kirkland's path.

Arthur was sixteen years old when Mr. Kirkland left, Alfred thirteen years.

"Here you are, fellas!" the server was back with their sundaes on each hand. Alfred immediately lit up and Arthur unimpressed with how quickly the boy had dropped the subject all for sweets. Arthur immediately consoled himself, however and reasoned that Alfred was still sort of a kid – mentality-wise, for certain. Arthur couldn't suppress a chuckle watching Alfred pick up a silver spoon and glaze over the ice cream he'd ordered so many times before like it was the Holy Grail.

"I've been thinking Alfred…"

"You're always thinking Artie," the American retorted with a spoon of creamy goodness trapped inside his mouth. He popped it out of his mouth and went for another scoop. This time, whip cream dribbled down his chin into the counter.

Arthur rolled his eyes and offered the boy a napkin. "Well, if you really want to help the with the war so much then why don't you work in the factories manufacturing the weapons and vehicles for the soldiers? I heard they pay well and at the same time you're literally contributing to the country as part of the 'arsenal of democracy' you all entitle yourselves."

"Nu-uh. I don't wanna be stuck in a stuffy factory all day. That's for chums. Ha! Can you imagine me working in an industry line fiddling with them interchangeable parts? Man, they're going to have to pay me more than seven dollars a day to do a job like that!" Alfred reasoned.

"You gonna eat that?" He pointed to Arthur's untouched sundae.

"I haven't even touched it yet!"

"Yeah well it's gonna melt and go to waste with you just yapping along a freakin' sermon."

Arthur gave him the _look _again, this time with an irritated edge to it. The Brit ate his cold dessert just to spite Alfred who was hoping the green-eyed blonde would do a little sharing.

"Well how about being a poster boy? You're studious enough for that and you Americans love showing up in films and coming up with propaganda films. I'm sure you'll get in the loop with that in no time. You may even become famous," humored Arthur.

Alfred grinned comically and nudged the Brit. "I don't look like some cheesecake! And I'm no Betty Grable or Gibson girl for that matter. Maybe you should be the one getting his eyes fixed, Arthur!"

Alfred picked up his spoon and helped himself to Arthur's sundae. It was melting after all and needed to be 'rescued.'

Arthur gave a cheeky grin before wrestling Alfred with his arm around the boy's neck. Caught by surprised, Alfred missed his mouth and flung the ice cream right between his eyes. The glass slid off the table and crashed onto the floor. Vanilla trickled down Alfred's cheeks promising a sticky repercussion to clean afterwards.

"You look like you'd make a dashing lady with just several layers of powder and perhaps some _suggestive_ undergarments. Haha. Perhaps you should borrow your mother's pretty pink pantaloons! Oh, but you certainly won't be needing a wig with that silky-smooth hair of yours all neatly combed like some sweet doll face."

Arthur laughed, ruffling Alfred's hair, the young American struggling beneath Arthur's skinny but lithe arm.

"Ah! Look at what you made me do! And I am not a doll face!" Alfred tried to pry himself away but the older boy was having none of it and only held him tighter, laughing at how pink and childish Alfred could get.

"Let go of me you jerk! Oooh, I'll get you for this Arthur!"

Alfred gathered what was left of the ice cream on his hand and smeared it all over Arthur's face. "How'd you like that! Hahahaha!"

Arthur sputtered indignantly from the cold shock of the treat.

"Enough rough-housing fellas. This ain't no boxing match," the server called out from the across the parlor counter.

The two boys ceased their shenanigans with Arthur picking the tab. Alfred lingered by the door vowing for the hundredth time that he'll 'pay next time they go out, for sure!' Arthur countered that he needn't worry about paying since Alfred would be working in Mr. Thompson's garage, true to his word on Mrs. Jones.

"I apologize, sir. That was quite immature of me. I'll pay for the broken glass," Arthur blushed.

"Hey, as long as you don't do it again it's all good," the man said smiling as he polished the tables.

The boys turned to leave when the man halted them. He ran out into a room for a moment and came back carrying a flyer.

"I couldn't help overhearing, but I think it's a great idea for you boys to get into the Hollywood business. That is, being America's poster boys for the war effort. Says in this flyer that they need a new face for the war effort and Alfred here looks like a picture perfect All-American boy!"

He insisted the flyer to Alfred as they left the shop. Alfred snorted and tossed it out without even a glance.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well I hope you enjoyed this little reel, was at least a bit intrigued by it. I'm planning it to be a three to four chapter story, however I can't promise frequent updates until the end of May. I just have to make it through the year with my AP class and I'll be writing like crazy again, and hopefully I could finish where I'd left off in my other stories. Thank you for reading! **


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